Under the Wings of a Stormcrow
The elves, powerful in body and mind, yet divided still. The events of the Sundering were still haunting their minds. Constantly so, without a moments rest. The druids sought to lead their kind on a new path. The one they had turned a blind eye to. By doing so they shattered the land they loved into pieces. The same incompetence that had nearly cost their race everything still lingered within their ranks. Diplomacy and agreements were needed. A strong bond that united them once more. This would take time, he knew it.
Vingor Stormcrow had, since his training in the arts of the druids begun, seen more than he wanted too. Nobles often spoke well, but their actions had proved lesser than those of a mere Captain. The same Captain that had left without a trace, placing their kind in the hands of a Priestess. The Priestess seemed to have a gift for leadership, however. And her charisma did not stagger her cause. Many still had doubts. The land still scarred by the events that had taken place.
I see now how foolish we were. But the thought of our children suffering because of us is unbearable. The druid sat upon a large rock, the cracks and rough surface seemingly not affecting his comfort. His glowing eyes observing the grassy hillside below with a stern glance. The wounds were obvious, still.
The gentle wind flew past, brushing against his elven skin. It soothed him. Nature itself was wounded, scarred and tainted. Yet it was in spite of such, or perhaps because of it, more beautiful than ever. The murky colors of lush grass, withering and growing trees, thick mist and gray shores all reminded him of the price nature payed for their mistakes. A towering gloom, one that cause a melancholy unlike anything else.
Vingor found it, in time, pointless to ponder on his thoughts for much longer. A walk was needed. The male elf stood tall, stretching his limbs before he walked down the ancient pathway. His walk so brisk and controlled that it seemed unnatural for a druid. He had grown restless. For hours he walked, passing through the wast forests of Ashenvale, traversing the hillside with the ease that his kind could.
Wherever one passed the scars of taint could be found. The elves had brought it upon themselves, he knew it, but it hurt to witness it with the eye. Some things did not heal, much did. His task was to govern those forests. The safekeeping of the land fell not to the Sentinels. The sisterhood that was newly formed, but to the druids. The sisterhood guarded their borders. The land itself, however, could not be healed by strength of arms.
As he reached the edge of the forest, his hand rested upon the trunk of a tree. It felt ancient. Scarred. Full of memories. To him it appeared young, yet the strain in its lifespan made him feel younger. It made him sad, the deepest corners of his heart cried out for his beloved lands to return to previous glory. His love for the trees was unrivaled. They acted as his insurance. Even if his kind were to leave this land due to their incapability. The trees will stand, a memory of what we cherished. Life is beautiful. It will always be, no matter who would walk the land, as long as there are those who respect it.
Vingor Stormcrow would walk the land like this, for hours on end, even days. Traveling beyond where the Sentinels would patrol. His hand grazing the bark of old trees, as well as those that were young. His gaze growing cold with time, his stature alluring and frightening at the same time for those who saw him pass through a settlement.
As his steps brought him closer to the region of Azshara, his heart throbbed painfully. He knew what once was there. What may dwell in that tainted land? His train of thought was halted, by the assault of a crow that flew across his shoulder. A loud squeak, like a cry of warning floating upon the wind. For a brief moment Vingor found his gaze to be locked at the dark creature. Similar feathers framing the edge of his shoulder pads. His rugged and short beard felt dry as a blast of wind came upon him with force. Dark blue hair flowing behind him like a banner. How ironic.
Within that very moment a shriek of agony filled his ears. His heart cracked within. All manner of calm lost in a frenzied search with his eyes, as they surveyed the landscape.
Step by step, swift and agile. Skipping past grass, stone and logs. His heart beating wildly, Vingor chased the direction that the piercing sound came from. A shadow loomed over his thoughts. The darkness between the branches felt vast. It was as if they cursed not only his haste, but the very existence of his kind. His cloak flew behind him, slithering in the wind like a serpent among the great wyrms. Haste was all that mattered in that very moment.
His legs felt lithe, muscles flexing as he climbed a hillside with striking ease and slid down on the other side. His fingers clawing into the soft earth to slow down his descent. He reached the bottom with a crouched landing, his kneecap pressing against firm ground painfully. Grinding his teeth together the elf raised himself and sprinted in a swift and fluid motion. His legs carried him across the grassy flat-lands at the outskirts of the forest, with a speed he had not experienced for hundreds of years.
The clouds gathered above him, a towering mushroom of darkness piling upon the other. Lightning piercing the sky as Vingor gave chase. The scenery had changed, the mist was gone, but a downpour of water slithered its way down his neck. The sky was dark, yet it flamed brightly every now and then with a thunder that tore at the ears like a knife in flesh.
With sweat framing his forehead the elf glanced across the scenery. A fresh waterfall of rain falling towards him. It clouded what vision he had. Shrieks flaring up again, stirring his ears painfully now. He was closing in. He didn't know what he was approaching, but the pain that surged through the sound was very real. He shuddered and launched himself down a slope of slippery water. Within a brief moment the tall elf transformed into a powerful feline, dark fur covering the body. Flaring eyes peering forward with a roar escaping his jaws as he landed in haste, dashing forward.
In front of him was a towering inferno of flames that howled angrily, scarring trees and buildings alike. The buildings themselves climbing around the trunk of the trees or placed upon the plains of grass by the slope of a hill.. Everything burned with a devilish flame. His paws dug into the ground, clawing up dirt as he came to a halt on what was left of an ancient path. Vingor Stormcrow stood on four paws, observing the disaster in disbelief. The stench of death and burnt wood causing his nostrils to flare in disgust.
His furry mane whistling in the wind as a blunt gust of wind swept over the area, causing a flame to explode in force and then die off, but not before it had ignited wood that was yet to be cooled by the water falling from the sky. What trickery is this!? Vingor could not understand why fire would be ignited and keep burning when nature itself worked against the devilish offspring. The fire was unreal. Its magnitude and intensity far to great under the circumstances.
There were elves lying in the doorway, flames scolding their body. Yet those elves failed to give voice of the agony. Dead. Fire burning away their age and life force. He had not seen such a thing in a long time. His mind losing itself in memories, the elf retreated from the feline form and back to a humanoid. The pupils on his eyes stirring in terror as he stood silently, watching. There were no shrieks anymore, only a roaring inferno of fire. He walked down the slope, scurrying towards the fiery ruins at a careful rate.
Every where his eyes wandered there was but the immobile bodies of the dead. Vingor stood silently, muttering but a few words: "The House of Shadeleaf..." His voice drowned as the flames stirred in a violent whirlwind towards the darkening sky. No water was there to cool his skin anymore, as if the fire boiled it until nothing was left. His gaze fixed itself to the fire for a moment. His skin felt painful. Even at a safe distance the heat caused him to wince. "...they are all dead."
The stench of death penetrated his nostrils. So powerful and unrelenting. Vingor could not stand the tainted stench, it was unbearable. Unavoidable. Burning flesh, sweeping flames and a heat that dried the moisture off his skin. While his stomach roared, the grown night elf found himself on his hands and knees, hunched over while the content within splashed onto the dying vegetation, from his open mouth. His body shivered with agony, the discomfort at what he saw and smelled was too overwhelming. Drops of rain slithering down his neck, making the experience intolerable when the flames caused the water to boil upon his skin.
Curses upon this weakness! Stand! His limbs shook violently as muscles clamped against each other in an effort to lift his weight into a crouch. His back curled, as if all the lasting years he had seen was chained to it physically. His eyes watering due to the heat and the etching image of burning flesh upon those who had died before they could escape the fierce flames. Vingor did not find himself able to move. His mind struggled with comprehending what occurred before his very eyes.
While the elf watched, the flames flickered wildly, blowing a wave of immense heat in every direction, before subsiding into steady flame that teared at the remaining debris. Vingor was blown onto his back by the force escaping the wildfire. Nature itself seemed stunned by what had transpired. There were no sounds of animals, no wind to drive the stench of death away. Smoke slowly clouding around him, making his vision faint and hazy, Vingor stumbled onto his aching legs. He slowly worked his way forward, uneasy and stunned by what he had witnessed.
His foot struck something limp and caused him to buckle over, onto his palms. Vingor could not see properly, even with his keen eyesight. He let his hand judge the object, only to flinch and jerk it back quickly with a fierce snarl. The sensation of scorched flesh burned into his mind, forming an image that no eyes could rival. Disbelief struck his very core as he pushed his palms into the ground, skidding away from the dead elf lying next to him. All that was visible was the silhouette of a curled up corpse, with burnt skin that could be glimpsed where the smoke was not as thick.
The House of Shadeleaf was destroyed. The ground upon where they once lived was but a burning crisp of rubble at that moment. Vingor Stormcrow personally lived through another nightmare, one of the sort he had not seen in a long while, observing the damage caused by the wildfire. The elf did not comprehend the atrocity. There were no sign of demons. Just a looming shadow of death that was caused by the burning of nature and lives. There were no machines of war, no arrow heads. Yet, in all of it he sensed an evil. Something had caused the wildfire. It was not a normal accident. Nothing else could explain the potent, fierce magical force that had burst the fire away. As if trying to erase any evidence of its presence.
Having made his way away from the scorched grounds, he crouched by the clear flow of water that leaped across a bed of stones. His hand gently cupped the water, tasting its clarity, to end his thirst after such an ordeal. The water held no taint. Whatever it was that had caused the fire, it certainly had a concentrated area of effect. Hence a natural accident involving arcane magic, or magic of any kind, by accident was out of the question.
The elf sat down upon the hard rocks next to the creek. His eyes locked on the dark smoke emitting from where the small settlement once had been among the shades of the trees. Curtains of smoke balling together into a thick cloud that shadowed the sun, causing the air to turn chill after a while. A small and targeted area of effect, obviously. No accident. Yet there is no sign of demons or invaders?
The same unease that had stalked him since he first heard the screams of terror, pierced him. His glance flashed fiercely in every direction. Someone was watching him while he was wrapped in the haze of thought. A branch groaned under the weight of something, Vingor quickly stared upwards to his side. There she sat. Her bow elegantly placed along her side within the grasp of her hand. He did not hesitate with lifting his hand in a polite greeting, one often used to acknowledge an ally. The female elf made no move, she merely pierced him with her silvery eyes.
"Your posture is suspicious, considering our current surroundings. I am Vingor Stormcrow. May I ask for you to leave your position within that tree?" Vingor kept his eyes locked on the female elf, observing her for a clue as to her involvement.
"I am not responsible for that fire, if that is what you grumble upon. Stormcrow. I took my post in this tree to protect the child." Her voice was steady and relaxed, yet her vision switched between the smoke drifting with the winds in the skies and him.
"What child?" Vingor tilted his head, puzzled, he could only sense the female's presence. There was no sign of a child.
Nimbly and gracefully the female elf skipped down from the branch of the tree, landing gently on the ground before rising up. She kept her eyes on Vingor, walking past him, and jumping over the creek. Her back disappeared briefly between the thick gathering of ancient trees some yards ahead, before she returned with a young elfling who grasped her hand warily. The child knew its place in the situation, keeping his eyes locked on the creek flowing between the two elders.
Utterly baffled by the child's presence, Vingor scratched his dark-blueish beard thoughtfully. His glowing eyes set upon the young male with a piercing glance. There was something odd about the elf before him. The bright white mane flowing down his back seemed to carve him out from the rest of the forest, like water in a desert. It screamed in contrast to the lush lavender hair that framed the female. A nerve struck Vingor as the young elf looked into his eyes. Those eyes held an alluring presence, yet a frightening one as well.
"What is your name, child?" Vingor directed his words towards the younger elf, seemingly polite and concerned. His concern was not for the welfare of the child, so much as for the feeling towering over his mind as he spoke to the younger elf.
"...Atelniar." The youngling spoke silently, yet clearly. His response taking a little longer than expected, as if the child measured the significance of sharing his name so easily. Vingor marked these traits swiftly in his mind, his suspicion growing.
"I need to report this atrocity to the nearest center of command. Unless my eyes have lost all sight, nearly all of the Shadeleaf were scorched to death by that cursed fire. The rain came too late. Somehow. Would it be safe to entrust this child with you? He can not stay here..." The female elf disturbed Vingor's observation of the young elf, her gaze drawn towards the solemn child with a glimpse of compassion that she hid well underneath a militant stature. Her grasp upon the child's shoulder a bit firmer than before.
Vingor nodded once, very slowly. His glowing eyes locking onto the female elf again. She closed her eyes briefly, releasing a sigh of relief. "Good." She stated, quite simply, before her nimble feet carried her away in a swift pace. Her hair flowing elegantly in the wake of her path between the trees as she sprinted away in a rush.
Atelniar was still staring at the creek, a mere glimpse with his eyes following the female elf as she disappeared. The two males stood silently for a brief moment. One keeping his eyes down behind a solemn facade, the other keeping a fixed eye upon him. There they stood. An endless stream of water caressed the stone as it traveled forward, disappearing in between the ancient trees.
"Come with me, child." Abruptly Vingor turned on his heel, not even looking over his shoulder as he walked out from the shades of the trees, making sure his path led him by the remnants of the burned down settlement. Atelniar followed willingly, his gaze kept low until they reached the path overviewing the area.
"You are to follow me wherever I go for now. I will keep my eyes on you. I hope I make myself understood?" His words were firm, and any adult could sense the hint of a threat within the words. A cold posture escaping Vingor's presence.
"Yes, Sire. I do understand." Atelniar tilted his head to the side slightly. All innocence that was inherent in a child's eyes entirely gone. For Vingor it was unnerving to be in the presence of such a crude personality, one that revered in the fake pretense between the two elves.
It was in that very moment that Vingor Stormcrow realized that the past mistakes would always surface. Even where you would least expect it. From that day and onwards he swore to guide the stray elfling onto a different path. To teach the child compassion and remorse. Perhaps the streak of potential within would blossom into a dangerous flower, instead of a wicked weed, at the very least. Thus he knew, if the world he longed for was to be, he had to at least try. With anxiety in his heart, he led them both onto a path that would reflect the very nature of being. Their shadows slithering along the smooth stone in the wake of their walk.
Vingor Stormcrow did not return to his kind for a long time. His purpose from that day on was to teach and watch over the young elf. During that time Atelniar grew in knowledge and strength, slowly connecting with nature. He gained a new name from his master. A name that would stalk him forever, due to his past and how he approached the future. He would become Atelniar Shadowrunner. A shadow always looming in his living wake.
Thus it was that the fleeing shadow came to rest under the wings of a Stormcrow.